Moon Dance
by Doobit
Summary: Castiel has struggled with conforming to the strict laws of Valdar, but on the day he is Marked he gives up trying. That is, until a mysterious white haired girl appears to him in a dream and tells him to run. He soon finds out he is uniquely qualified to over throw The Seer, a powerful magician who controls the world like puppets.
1. Castiel

I always knew I was different. Everyone in my town looks the same to me; hair the colour of bark, lean, toned bodies, and even though their specific facial features may differ they all hold a faint smile that never fades. I don't believe that smile. It feels like a trick of light, but when I blink the smile remains. They all greet each other with bland joy and, like an army of ants, seem only motivated by some instinct that I somehow lack. They give speeches about how we should all be motivated by love, kindness and altruism, but when I ask them why I am immediately reprimanded. Any questions are punishable by gross means. I got two hours in the Carrion Tower for asking questions about why I should behave in the way they preach, hands and feet chained to the wall while vultures stared at me as though they were waiting to feast off of my dying flesh. I have only asked a question twice and I must have set the example, because nobody else has been stuck in there. Now I just copy the face smile and pacifism that everyone else seems to thrive off, but every time I look in the mirror, I whisper to the broken boy I see, "This is not the place for you. Run".

My town is called Lockwood. I know it is one of the smaller towns in Braken from class, as it only houses approximately two thousand people. Like most towns and cities in Braken, we are made up mostly of children under seventeen, our teachers, and the handful of blond enforcers. Braken is the largest of the five continents and its main trades are education and fishing. Since humans left the old world and settled on the fruitful planet of Valdar, the technology boom has allowed the enforcers to kept specific control over the eugenics of the entire population. Every baby born on Valdar is sent to Braken to be educated, so the other continent's all have populations above the age of seventeen.

I hate the Enforcers that make all of us with brown hair shut up and listen. They waltz around with their startlingly blond hair like they own the place, and in a sense, they do. Enforcers all wear the same, sky blue uniform, but strangely those of us from Braken do not. Maybe the dull expressions are Lockwood's uniform. I don't understand why nobody else hates them as much as me. I don't think my classmates even notice how they invade our lives and shout out rules. Enforcers seem to be exempt from the ignorance the rest of the town is subjected to. They seem to laugh with each other and make friends, so they must have some semblance of sanity. It sickens me, but I am more like them than I care to admit. I can't pinpoint the reason why, because I feel almost as distant from them as I do from the town folk, but they laugh, jeer or even yell, I understand why.

The Enforcers answer to one person, our great and merciful Seer. When I was a little child they taught us a song about him, that we would often sing before bed as a musical prayer:

When it's warm he covers up the earth

When it's cold he makes the sun appear

When it's dark he builds a light for all

Our great and merciful Seer

We are taught of his magnificence, his benevolence, his radiance. History lessons are filled with stories of how he defended Valdar during a war called the Sky Invasion, when inhabitants of another solar system tried to claim Valdar as their own. He alone has the goodness, kindness and intelligence to preside over the world. These are the only classes I pay attention to, because I have some sick fascination with the man who pulls the strings. I know a lot about the Seer, even though I have never even seen a picture of him. I wouldn't say I revere him, but I have been told of his pursuits in science and of his long list of achievements so I have a strange affinity towards him. Maybe the thing that fascinates me is that he has a name for himself. He is his own individual person and nobody else can be compared to him. He doesn't blend in with the world I know, he doesn't have to be around the people I do. I envy his mysterious isolation.

Every Friday we have a Sorting. The children who turned seventeen that week are subdued to genetic tests by the enforcers from the sky-bound continent of Cyorrn. I don't understand the tests, but they look at something in our genomes to see what genes we possess and sort us onto different continents to increase genetic variation. At the same time, we will be assigned a profession on that continent, due to a combination of school examinations and genetic abilities. But how can we be separated based on difference when we are all seem the same? I sometimes wonder how those kids have different genomes when they all have that blank stare and faint smile. It is so hard to see the differently shared noses and multicolored eyes and the shades of skin when the all have the exact same expression. When we are sorted we are injected with a virus that changes the colour of our hair to represent the genetic pool you are able to reproduce with in order to maintain genetic variation, but it also shows which continent we belong to. Bark brown hair for Braken, Black for the scorching heat of Fyremir, Light chestnut for the vast forests of Melahien, pale blond for the biting cold of Halentale and golden yellow for the highest of high in the clouds of Cyorrn. Cyorrn iss the power of the world, where our merciful Seer reaches out his hand across the fields of his realm, keeping all in balance. Cyorrn is where out Enforcers come from.

To keep order, our Great and Merciful Seer categorizes us into countries and gene pools, but occasionally somebody won't fit into the carefully assigned genepools. These people are Marked. Their DNA is manipulated so their hair is a bright crimson. I don't understand why a certain genome would affect the established Eugenics so much, but we are told they are genetically inferior and will bring down the established order of the world. Apparently they have genes that cause them to be prone to violence, sickness and weakness, so they are detrimental to society. We are taught to spit at them, to cage them, watch them like animals. We would have to walk past those Marked in cages in the human zoo at the start of every week, just to be reminded of our own privilege and taught of all their flaws. They are useless to the world, abominations from the other side of darkness. We cannot tolerate what was not meant to be in this world. Parasites have no place here.. In all honesty, I do not know why they aren't killed at sorting, but the Seer must have some reason for it.

Today I am to be sorted.

One by one, those of us who have finally reached adulthood ascend the daunting steps to the stage that is spread out in front of the crowd like gallows. There are three of us today. I am last. The first boy walks slowly to the stage, an aggravatingly plastic smile on his face, hardly aware of the significance of this day. He just stands there, watching, waiting, as an Enforcer from Cyorrn with her sunshine bright hair and red lips draws his blood for testing. He stares over the small crowd, waiting, waiting as she analyses the blood in a contraption like a clock in a brief case. She then chooses the right enhancer virus and injects it into his arms. It happens within seconds. His hair turns a brilliant raven, and without a blink he walks off to the right to be told instructions of his removal to Fyramir.

The second girl goes through the same process, only to skip the enhancement and retain her brown hair. She is to stay in Braken, to educate the uneducated. How does one educate when they know nothing, I wonder? Only the Seer knows.

It is my turn. Slowly I drag my feet up the stairs as they scream out a cry against my weight, begging me to stop. A vulture circles above, giving me a silent warning that I cannot turn and flee, or he will meet me later in the tower to discuss my misbehaviour with a peak at my exposed flesh. I have learned the face of the masses, the steel smile, the hazey eyes, and I adopt this face as the yellow-haired woman siphons my blood. I do not look away from the circling vulture, daring it to attack m, as she pushes some buttons to find out where I shall be placed. Another vulture joins the first, laughing at me. Time stretches out like the horizon. What should be a minute seemed like five, and then ten. Still I stood with my carefully constructed face, waiting, waiting...

The woman is back. She holds the syringe in her hand, flicks the end, and injects. I close my eyes to wait for the transformation, but open them again as I hear a bitter gasp from the crowd below. One spits, another hurls a stone, and an enforcer leaps onto the stage to drag me off.

"You have one more day in your own room," He says, "And then it is the Zoo for you".

Today was the day I was sorted. Today was the day I was Marked.


	2. Chapter 1 - In Braken

Castiel stared into the tiny fragment of broken glass that he had foraged from a marsh, slowly tracing his fingers down his now crimson tresses. The more he looked at them the more he hated his differences, and the more he hated his differences, the more he hated those who were all the same. The dropped the glass in anger and threw himself onto the pathetic excuse for a bed that was pushed up into a corner away from the other children who had not yet been sorted.

He hated it here. He hated the way they were woken up with the harsh mechanical sounds of grinding gears, he hated how he and hundreds of other young boys were crammed into a giant, dank fall to sleep through a night of bitter wind and scurrying rats. He placed his finger over the deep cut he had etched into the wall, tracing each word of his name as though it made him more important. He would never be important. Important people had two names, a first and a last, but he had only one. Only the aristocracy of Cyorrn, the beautiful, glamorous flickering souls of Cyorrn has a last name. He was not one of them.

Amidst the faint call of the persistent vultures out side and the spasmodic creaking of other bed, Castiel drifted into a troubled sleep, to indulge in his last slumber in the bed he had always known.

That night Castiel dreamed. Shadowy monsters were leaping from behind impossibly foreboding trees, waves crashed on rocky shores that he did not recognize. Terrifying images of Zoos and Marked and Fire and Death flashed, faster and faster. Accompanied by a symphony of crows, until the cacophony caused his mind to sting. Then suddenly all was silent. Somewhere in the backdrop of night and burning moon, a face appeared. She rose from the mist like a ghost ship. Her pale skin was flawless and almost translucent, with high cheek bones and a pointed chin, almost like a cat. Her nose had the same angular and feline appearance and was framed by hair so pale it could only be called white, that blew in waves over her face, billowing behind and around her. It fell easily below her hips and half way down her thighs. She was dressed in a white cloack the billowed like her hair, over what looked like a white tunic and white tights. The only colour in her whole image was her pale icy eyes that slanted slightly to give her a clever, cool look. The blue was startling against the backdrop of white, even those they them selves we so pale they could have been the eyes of the dead. An ink black cresent moon descended from below her left eye down her cheek, the size of the tip of a finger. Slowly, slowly, she raised her slender index finger to her mouth in a sign of hush, and somewhere in the back of Castiel's mind a whispered voice said

"Run"

The harsh mechanical song of the morning rang through the hall, causing the celestial images to vanish in a flash of morning light. Glacial water was thrown over Castiel and he was dragged from his bed before his eyes had fully adjusted to the light.

"This marked 'un needs be off to the Zoo" A gruff voice said out of the hussle. Castiel kicked at the unknown people, but a sack was stuffed over his head, obscuring his view and his aim. He felt tight ropes wound around him and the people pushed and pulled in hate. The usual daze had dissolved into loathing for what was different. Castiel had never seen somebody on the day of their Marking, and was not prepared for the ordeal. Something hit him over the head and his eyes were enveloped in blackness again.

Castiel woke in a cage. He was wearing a filthy cloth around his waist that barely covered him, and he had lost the feeling in his legs because of the cramped space. Eight other worn eyes stared at him through the iron bares. The youngest was easily in her mid 40's, the oldest so wretchedly thin he could not stand. Four other marked lived on Braken. Only four other Marked had stood up to the Seer and refused to conform. All the others had given in and either volunteered to conform or thrown themselves of a cliff. Castiel resolved he would not be one of them. The noise that had woken him caught his attention. One caged had been opened, the keeper was putting his key in the second. He opened the cage of the woman in her 40's, who stepped out to be shackled around the feet, to the first Marked. This happened again with the third marked, and finally it happened with Castiel. The old man was so decrepit he could not walk and was given the mercy of retirement. Instead he was to stand in his cage all through the day, for the Brakens to look at for entertainment. Sometimes they threw food at him, just to see him dance. But only on the good days.

Marked were used for the worst type of labour. This is why they were not killed. On Braken, which was a continent of education and fishing, Marked were used to wade through pools of rotting fish and guts in search of possibly valuable items. If one was found, that Marked was given two slices of bread for supper instead of one. Everyday that week Castiel waded, and every night he dreamed of the opalescent girl.

Two year had past since his marking, and the keeper arrived with an announcement.  
"No fishing today, we's got something else," He said with a growl, uncaging and shackling each marked. A fire had burned down an education room, and the marked were being sent in across the still hot coals and think smog to retrieve what was still in tact. Debris was everywhere, and the keeper carried an axe to hack through any residual wood.

Somewhere around noon, the fire suddenly reignited. The keeper roared in surprise, dropping the axe. Castiel seized his chance. He grabbed his fallen savior, hitting the keeper into unconsciousness with the blunt end, and swinging it down over his shoulder to break the chains that linked him to his neighbor. He dashed past, releasing each one, and turned back as the flames burned higher. Through the smog her could see an angry crowd running towards the school room, some with spears, some with swinging first. The word echoed through his mind again.

 _Run, run, run, run…_

Quickly thinking of the other Marked he turned to tell them it was time to leave. But they were already gone. So Castiel did the only thing he knew he could do. With out purpose, without goal, without any inhibition, Castiel ran.


	3. Chapter 2 - To Fall

Castiel ran. His feet moved quickly across the marshy ground as a grey cloud loomed forebodingly over head, laughing at his attempt at escape. In the distance he could see the bitter line of the Onyx Cliffs, the huge black cliffs that rose up out of the waters to mark Amoris, the city in Braken from which he was escaping. Behind him the screams of the angry citizens were growing gradually louder as they closed in on him like a hungry pack of wolves. His lack of a decent diet and the gruelling labor he had been subjected to had made him weak, and his legs could not carry him as fast as he wished. Still he pushed himself until the cliff faced dropped away only one hundred metres away. He paused. The crowd behind him took this as encouragement and pushed on further, spanning out in an arch so he could not run to either side. He moved forward, wary that he was running out of space until his toes were almost over the edge. Still the crowd pressed forward. He looked up, panicking at the pressure, unsure of what to do. He knew he could not go back to the cages and the ridicule, whatever it took, so He chose the alternative.

Castiel jumped.

Wind whipped around him, causing his shoulder length hair lash crimson streaks across his eyesight. Instead of feeling any sort of panic at his coming end, he felt suddenly peaceful. He tumbled through the air, closing his eyes and taking calm, deep breaths, waiting for the hungry waves and rocks to claim him. But something was wrong. Instead of accelerating, he felt himself slowing down. Opening his eyes he noticed he was merely drifting to the sand, and he stopped altogether only a hand span above the rough beach. With rattled breathing he reached out to touch the ground, and fell him a gentle thump. Flipping himself over, he lay on the black sand looking up at the Onyx Cliffs, so high that the folk on top were just pinpricks against the rumbling clouds.

Something white blocked out the black of the cliffs. Castiel gasped to realize it was the girl from his dreams, with the pitch moon running down her left cheek. She reached out a hand to help him to his feet then motioned with her finger for him to come. Unable to formulate any other sort of plan, Castiel followed her.

They walked for what seemed like hours, over jutting rocks and basking sand, until the moon fought the sun for dominance of the sky. The pale beams tumbled down around them, somehow making the white girl shine a sombre silver in the night. She never looked back to see if he was following, she just walked. Finally they came to a stretch of beach that was unmarred by the ugly black rocks and she stopped. Without acknowledging him she wandered around collecting bits of wood and depositing them in a shallow hole in the sand. Unsure of what to do, Castiel just stood and watched her graceful movements. He was still in a daze from what had happened, unable to find words to say to the strange pale girl, or to describe the twisting events of the day. His mind fleetingly wondered about the old man who was unable to come to work with them. Nobody had set him free, would they punish him for Castiel's escape?

The girl had finished collecting the white washed driftwood and was squatting down beside it. The moon was bright, and Castiel clearly saw her run her hand over the pile, emitting a deep orange flame until the wood caught and blazed bright. Castiel was shocked. He knew there were mages in the world, but they were not as common as other scientists. He had met biologists and geologists and even a chemist, but never a mage. Mages were rare because they willingly submitted themselves to harsh and rigorous genetic manipulation to attain abilities nobody else had. Studying the science of emology was occasionally and quietly called witchcraft, because of the brutal transformation mages were submitted to. To see somebody use her emoor was unheard of in Braken, and yet the stranger used it as easily as salt.

The girl looked up and motioned to the sand next to her, silently asking him to sit. He complied; glad to be near the warmth of the fire.

"Who are you?" Castiel asked, trying to break the silence. She looked at him with her large pale eyes and pointed upwards to the luminescent orb that was sleepily caressed by the mournful sky.  
"What?" Castiel asked with confusion, "Moon?"  
She nodded, a fleeting smile playing on her lips as she stroked the moon tattoo under her eye. Her white blue eyes were touched with a deep sadness, and even the slight twitching of her lips seemed a sad movement. Every thing about the girl dripped melancholy.  
"Your name is Moon? That doesn't tell me who you are…" Castiel said, slightly agitated at her silence. Again she looked at him with those icicle eyes, unblinking, unbroken.  
"Where are you from? Why are you here?" Castiel inquired, angry at his own ignorance. Still no answer. This time, she reached out her slender hand. Castiel instinctively moved out of her way, but seeing the pleading in her eyes, let her place her cold fingers on his cheek.

Immediately Castiel's mind was filled with the recurring dreams and eerie eyes of the girl next to him. The same distant and misty voice from his dreams took place over the sound of torment and waves.

 _"_ _I am Moon and you must save me"_

Castiel flinched and withdrew from her touch, not liking the feel of her inside his head. He stood up in anger and kicked sand in the fire.  
"Save you? I can't even save myself! I am Marked. MARKED!" He raged. "The world hates me, I can't go anywhere, and you expect me to SAVE you? Why should I even care?"

Moon once again reached out her hand and motioned for him to return to her. He wanted to flee, but he didn't know where to go. Clearly she was the one who made the fire that allowed his escape, but what if this was some elaborate rouse that would make him end up in the Carrion Tower for the final time? But what if what she was saying was true, and she needed saving? Did he care enough about this complete stranger to even care? Curiosity wound her enticing web around him until he moved back to the fire and offered Moon his cheek.

 _"_ _You must save me, because only you can. Without your help I will die. I do not want to die"_

"But what's in it for me?" Castiel asked, still annoyed.

 _"_ _I can give you want you have always wanted, Castiel. I can make you free. But please, let me tell you who I am…"_


	4. Chapter 3 - The History of the Moon

Images started to flash in Castiels head, chopping and changing like his dreams, but this time they were chronological and told a story.

 _A young girl with the familiar deep brown eyes Castiel knew so well was standing in a purple street, laughing. Her golden hair tumbled down to her waist and she was saying something incomprehensible and waving her arms wildly_

 _The a slightly older version of the girl stood on the same street, this time with her hands on her hips and anger in her eyes, screaming something to an unknown listener._

 _Slightly older again, She stood in a palace, walled in gold and draped in red velvets. She shook her head vigorously. She was refusing to do something. Somebody grabbed her arm and she jerked away and slapped him. Another came from the other side, forcing her off balance so the original attacker grabbed her and held her tight. A third man stepped forwards with a knife in his hand. All that insued was vicious red and a tongue that fell to the floor._

 _The girl sat in a dark room, crying. She kept putting her fingers in her mouth to check something. She made gurgling sounds but no words. She looked up when somebody opened the door and made more of the incomprehensible noises. She started shaking her head wildly and pressing her self back against the wall._

 _She was in a white room, with men dressed in white coats with white masks. Their only distinguishing feature was their pale blond hair. She was tightly fastened to a bed, trying to move but failing._

 _Pain. Pain and blackness._

 _She was still on the bed, only it was days later. Her hair was white and lank, her eyes were no longer the muddy brown they used to be, but a pale blue that sat like icebergs in a see of red veins._

 _The whole place was in flames. She ran through them unscathed as screams of distress followed her from behind._

 _She was flying over a swirling tundra of fog and snow on something black and mechanical._

 _A faceless man with the same white hair was talking to her. She was shooting balls of flames from her hands at targets that were zooming past her._

 _She was flying over the ocean this time. In the distance huge black cliffs rose up._

 _She stood in a decaying schoolhouse that sat next to a brutal marsh. Finding a dry and unstable beam she shot a ball of blue fire from her hands to it. She heard screams and knew she had done well._

 _The white haired girl stood at the bottom of some looming obsidian cliffs, looking up at the rumbling sky. A tiny dot of red appeared above her. The red faltered and then started to grow. It grew as it came closer, until the red became a figure, and that figure became a body. Reaching out her hand she closed her eyes and concentrated, opening them again to see the body was falling slowly now._

 _She was sitting at the fire with a crimson haired boy and reaching out her hand to touch his face._

Castiel shook his head as the events of her mind caught up with him.

 _"_ _So you see?"_ She said in her dream voice, _"_ _You must kill the Seer before he kills me"_

"The Seer did this? The majestic and benevolent Seer?" Castiel asked. He had been taught of the love of the Seer, how he kept everything in balance. This did not seem like a thing the Seer would do, "But…Why?"

 _"_ _The Seer is not the man you think he is, Castiel. He is power hungry. Few people can be modified like I was, and he wanted me to lead an enforcement group, to stifle any rebellion. He grows weaker, and his Dazing is not as effective as it once was. I refused, and he forced me, thinking I would change my mind. I did not, and now I am a threat."_

Too much information was being thrown at Castiel and he remained silent trying to process it.  
"What is Dazing?" He asked after a quiet moment.

 _"_ _Have you ever noticed that most people have a blank look? Everyone who is not marked? They are Dazed. They have no choice but to do what they are told?"_

"So… They have no free will?" He asked.

 _"_ _It is rather that they can not question. If one does not question, one will always remain on the same path. They do not question sorting, they do not question their labour, they do not question their treatment of the Marked. They comply, because there is no other option"_

"You're not Dazed. Why aren't you Marked?"

 _"_ _I am from Cyorrn. Ceen are Marked in a different way. They are not brought to Braken when they are born. On my seventeen birthday my hair turned white, not red."_

"Wait… You still haven't told me why you need MY help. How will you free me?  
 _"_ _The Seer is a mage. He has thousands of Emologists, trying to make more mages, because science is what keeps the world in order. But some people are not affected by some types of emoor. Those people are Marked. They cannot be Dazed. So he uses other types of force to get them to comply. Pain, fire, death. And so many Marked beg to be changed and to live a life he has chosen for us. The rest are put in Zoos as an example to other Marked. But some Marked are unaffected by other types of magic too. This is why you are so important"_

Moon reached out her other hand to grasp his and procured a flame from some mystic place beyond his reasoning. He instinctively flinched, but she held on. Surprised, Castiel realized his hand wasn't burning. All he felt was vague warmth.

"How? What? But I AM affected by emoor! You can put words in my mind, and you stopped me from falling!"

 _"_ _You know little of emology. I can do these things to you because you wanted me to. You let me. I know of no other who is like this. Some can resist all emoor, some only types of emoor. But you, you can CHOOSE which emoor affects you and which doesn't. This is why you must save me. Against you, the Seer is just a man, and he has not been a man for longer than he knows. So how can he fight as a man would? But sleep now. We must travel when the sun rises. I will answer all that you ask on the morrow"_


	5. Chapter 4 - The Demon of the Skies

Castiel slept little that night. His dreams were still invaded by the now familiar tumult of Moons mind. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, nor did he know if he should trust Moon. The love of the Seer had been ingrained in him since he was born, yet he had always doubted. But this was beyond anything he ever thought could have happened. Now he was Marked. He had learned in school that people were Marked because they had no skills, they were leeches on the side of society that sapped up the resources of good, hard working people. Castiel didn't feel like he was a leech.

When the dawn rose, sleepy and stretching, Moon stirred next to him. The fire in the pit was still burning despite not having any wood to feed off. Moon gently rolled over and opened her eyes. She was wearing what she wore in his dreams, and was all snuggled up in the huge white fur cloak.

Castiel stood up, shielding his eyes against the rising sun. His stomach grumbled. Moon, hearing this, reached into some unseen pocket in cloak and pulled out a tiny cude and some sort of device that was an electronic flat circle. She put the cube on the disk and pushed some buttons. The cube grew to become an appetizing meal of potato and chicken. She offered it to Castiel who devoured it thankfully. It was just like the chicken he remembered eating in his childhood. He had never seen food prepared but knew it was prepared in this way from his school lessons.

Moon did not move until he had finished, then rose and walked away, beckoning for him to follow. Still wary but unsure of any other option, He followed.

"Moon, you said you could make me free. What do you mean? I am Marked. I can never be free."

Moon took hold of his hand. The companionship was something Castiel was unfamiliar with, and he fought the urge to drop her hand and run, but once again, he held on to know more.

 _If you were not Marked would you still be free?_

Castiel thought for a moment and then slowly shook his head.  
"If I wasn't Marked, I would be one of them. Not being able to question is like… not really living at all…"

 _But what if there were none of them? They are here because the Seer plays their life strings like a harp, dictating their way of life and composing their stories. If he was not there, everyone would play their own song. They are told the Marked are abominations, and they do not question this. But if they could, would they think the same? What if a Marked was the one who broke their Daze? Would they still see you as a curse, or would they see you as their savior?_

"How do you know that will happen? What if it is so engrained in them that they still hate me?"

 _I know some powerful people, Castiel. With the Seer gone, our friendship can come out of the shadows. I know of a man who can make you whoever you want to be. You could choose the colour of your hair, your biochemistry, anything you want. In this way, you will live among the world as you like, but nobody would hate you, because nobody would question that you were different. You could assume a roll of power, or you could completely disappear from the record. It is up to you. In this way you shall be free._

Something inside called to Castiel, yearning for what she proposed. But at the same time he doubted the truth of her pleas. He didn't know anything about the journey that was the lie ahead, he only knew what he had left behind. Did he want to be emerged into the society he thought he hated? The only alternative was to be hated himself.

Behind a rock stood the black vehicle that he had seen in Moons memories. It was long and thin, with two handles at the anterior and a plush leather seat. He knew that Moons legs had wrapped around the seat so that they lay either side of the mechanics underneath. He had never seen anything like it or more beautiful in his life.

Moon placed her hand against his back and said _"_ _It is an air bike. I stole it when I was in Halentale. I do not like to ride it unless necessary. You may have her if you help me"_

Castiel needed no other excuse. He didn't need the promise of freedom, or the thankfulness of a distressed girl, he just needed the means of escape. In that moment he decided to help the mysterious white girl. He sold his soul for a love of a mechanical beast.

After a quick lesson from Moon, Castiel was able to ride the bike like he had ridden his whole life. With an approving glance from Moon he laughed. The sound startled him. He had never laughed. He had never heard a laugh. But he liked it.

Climbing behind him and wrapping her arms around him, Moon hung on as he zoomed into the calm sky.

 _"_ _We must go to Halentale. Here is someone you must meet there. For this we must travel south. At the bottom of the world lies the teardrop the gods named Halentale. Lysander is there, and he will tell you what you must do to destroy the Seer. You are cold. We must find you something to wear. You cannot wear a shard of cloth in the snow. I know who to see, and it he is close, so we ride south east."_

"No need to be embarrassed about about touching my flesh. I know that is why you currently have your arms around me" Castiel shouted over the roar with a smirk.

 _I do not understand…_  
Moon said with a furrowed brow.

"It is a joke" Castiel said with another short laugh.

 _A joke? I have been told of jokes. They are in ancient literature. I have never heard somebody speak a joke._

Slightly surprised, Castiel realized he had never heard a joke either. On the rare occasion he had said one, people looked at him with Dazed stares and incomprehensible features.

 _I…I do not think I like jokes…_

The awkwardness in her voice made Castiel laugh again. He was enjoying the flight. For once in his life he was actually enjoying something. He liked the feel of the air in his hair, the cold whipping across his face, and somehow familiar feel on Moons voice in his head as Moon whispered directions into his mind. The bike made him feel alive.

"She needs a name" Castiel said, partially to himself. "Demon. She is Demon"

Moon nodded in agreement. " _Then she shall be the Demon that haunts the skies. You will be the Demon rider, and I will dance the moon dance. The Seer is near his end"_


	6. Chapter 5 - Splicer

The island loomed out of the clash of sky blue and ocean green like an eagle in the morning mist. Castiel had never set foot off Braken, and was amazed at the lack of cliffs. Green Trees sprouted from the earth in clumps of flourishing happiness, and the beach was covered in a layer of peaceful pebbles. It was also cold. Moons arms were still wrapped around his torso, and she had ignited them with soft blue flames to keep him warm. Without her, would not have been able to feel any of his limbs, and he was quietly thankful.

They touched down at the point Moon had indicated. A simple brown house that had a small canopy of leaves above it occupied the clearing. Smoke was rising from the black chimney and small porch guarded the front ground. A solitary window on the front wall let light into the room. Moon hopped off the bike, causing Castiel to shudder at the suddenly biting wind.

Like always, she walked away from him, not indicating if she remembered she was with company. This time Castiel did not follow. It was all crashing around him. The realization that he had willingly decided to help a speechless stranger despite having to endanger himself in the process was one he could not completely comprehend. This wasn't like him. He had never participated in classes, often choosing to ship them and doze under a solitary tree that was some way off from the jumbled schoolhouses. He had never had friends like the other children, finding them a burden and useless. He had fended for himself because nobody else would fend for him, and that was the way he liked it. But the promise of an escape from all of that had some how stunted the doubt in his mind, and the pure joy of his first flight had completely evaporated any other voices that decided they wanted to be heard.

Moon was knocking on the door. A figure opened in and walked out. Seeing Moon he bent down and hugged her. There was some talking between them, Moon with her hand on his arm, and the figure gesticulating gracefully. Finally she turned back to Castiel and waved, an invitation for him to come. After a half second of hesitation when the wind decided to embrace him in her icy breath, he decided inside was better than out.

The man moon was talking to was tall and pale, with angular features and smoothly styled black hair. Castiel had never seen somebody with black hair for more than a few minutes. He had only ever seen them at Sorting, and they had been whisked away before he had a chance to properly observe it. The black hair was almost alien to him, but on the slender and welcoming man, it was almost normal.

"Castiel. It is a pleasure to meet you," He said in a deep purr, "You may call me Leigh of Ulumn. Moon tells me you are in need of my help, and I can see that it is true."

Inside was cozy and warm. Althrough the sizable room, long fragments of cloth hung from ropes, making billowing curtains of colour. Castiel had never seen so much colour or fabric in his life. He was used to dull greys and browns in Braken. Machines and needles and torsos were also littered around the room, with half crafted clothes hanging off any surface that permitted it.

"That little cloth is an insult to my art," Leigh said with disgust, "I will make you something to be proud of."

The hope of something warm to wear was the only thing that stopped him from punching the man as he started to measure Castiels limbs. While this was happening, Leigh chatted in a bored but pleasant tone.

"I am from Fyremir, as you can see from my hair. I am physically strong, and I was the one who watched over the coal mines. I never thought this was wrong, I just assumed it was the way things were. Happy? I wasn't happy per say, but who can sad when they don't know better. But one day… I don't know… I saw something…and It just felt like I… woke up. From some half formed dream. I realized I hated my existence. For sometime I kept doing what I thought I was supposed to do, but I was given a book. It was amazing. "For Freedom" it was called. It was from the old life, and was poetry that completely moved me. It told me who I was and I ran. First I ran to Halentale, because I thought they would never find me there. I discovered the soft materials and I fell in love. But they found me and I fled again. Here. But they found me again. But…after a compromise… they saw what I could do and the Ceen decided to forget about it, because they wanted my clothes. They are a vain continent. As as long as I stay here and don't cause trouble, and keep supplying them, I am allowed to live as is. Sometimes I wonder if the sacrifice was worth it, but this is the hand I was dealt."

Hearing about Leighs story was strange to Castiel. He had never been Dazed and couldn't understand what it would have been like before being "woken up" as Leigh had put it.

"And so you live here all alone? Is there anybody else on the island?" Castiel asked. The idea appealed to him. Solitude was his only childhood friend.  
Leigh hesitated and looked into the folds of cloth, a distant look in his eyes.  
"… It is just me now…" He said sadly.  
There was a long pause when Leigh looks mournful, but it slowly sunk into the same bored and pleasant disposition he had initially.  
"Only me and a few Splicers" He said cheerfully.

"Um… what?" Castiel asked, bewildered.

"Splicers," Leigh repeated, "When a genetic experiment fails, they put them on the little islands so they don't disturb the peace. They call them Splicers. This is a splicer dumping ground. Most are harmless, but some can be quite lethal, so You have to learn how to look after yourself. It is not such a bad life out here, though"

That night Castiel slept among the folds of cloth and glitter in Leighs lonely house. His mind was still infected by Moon dreams, but he was used to them now, they were almost a comfort. A familiar tree in the forest of new things. He knew he must follow Moon if he wanted to help himself, and that notion was somewhere between annoyance for having to look after somebody else and exultation that he had a way out. Moon wasn't a bad companion. She was quiet at least, and non-invasive. But she seemed so despairingly vulnerable that Castiel didn't understand how she escaped from a fortified research laboratory. He could not help resenting that he would have to care for her because she was too weak to take down the Seer alone.

He woke in the morning to the feeling of Moons presence. He didn't know why it woke him, he must have heard her movement, but he stirred and rose grumpily to find her presenting him with breakfast. He barked a sarcastic "good morning" and gulped down the food as she silently watched him, with her head at a slight tilt.

"Where is Leigh?" Castiel asked, his hand reached out to invite her to answer. She placed her fingers on his, and he was silently glad at her non-evasiveness.

 _He is bartering. He has little contact with the Continents, but he still has some, so he is away to do that. He made your clothes last night. Take them._

Castiel took them and she exited the room to give him privacy. The simple black pants were adequate, and he had a red shirt that matched his ruby hair and hard black boots. However, a thick, black leather jacket was what made him appreciate the outfit. He slipped it on approvingly. It was light, but warm and flexible. And it was black. Castiel liked black. He called to Moon but she did not return. Unphased he slumped down on a chair to wait, but was instead beckoned by a loud roar outside the house. He ran to the door and onto the front porch.

Moon's back was to the house and she stood, vulnerable and small, as a huge slavering beast sprinted across the grass towards her. It was as big as an oversized bull, but looked more like a mutated gopher, with long protruding teeth the size of Castiel's forearm and bulging muscles that ran down its legs that ended it mean looking claws.

"NO! MOON, RUN!" Castiel shouted, throwing himself past her and pushing himself in front of her, causing her to stumble. Realizing he had to weapon, he determined to face the splicer with his bare hands. Initially his belly pulled and his mind shouted at him to run, but suddenly a deep calm came over him, and his determination grew. The creature was now within arms reach, and the beast swiped out a bulging arm and sliced his claw down Castiel's cheek, causing his skin to split with pain and knock him a few feet back on to the ground. He could feel liquid seeping from his face and felt sick to the stomach. The Splicer raised itself onto its two hind legs and roared.  
Suddenly a white figure leaped over him and kicked the creature on the head, rebounding to land behind it. The lumbering beast roared and turned to face Moon. She clapped her hands together, and slowly drew them apart. As she did a long black staff grew between them, that had a deep blue stone on one end that was encased with web like black. She threw it up in the air and caught it, changing her position so that her moon scarred face was to the beast with her arm out in front of her, her right stretched behind her back with the black staff running a diagonal line behind her. He legs we spread and bent so that she was almost in a crouch with her left hand side facing the foe. For a second Castiel didn't understand what she was going to do with just a stick against such an aggressive splicer.

But then the staff ignited.

Castiel started to fade in and out of consciousness, but Moon flipped around the beast, jumping to impossible heights and hitting with impossible force. Her face was determined and blank, and it almost seemed as if they were experiencing the same calm of mind. She spun the flaming staff with speed and skill, until the splicer was a moaning, dying heap on the ground.

For the second time in a week, Castiel had been saved by Moon. His final thought as he finally slipped in to the abyss of nothingness was that she was extraordinarily strong for such a fragile girl.


End file.
